Horse of a Different Color
by LM
Summary: Chapter Four is up! Chameleon regroups with Tidal and Jabber. What the heck are those guys planning, anyway?
1. Prologue

  


_**Prologue:**_

  
The air oozed thickly with scents long ago promoted from odor to stench while driplets of water drummed methodically against naked stone. The yellow-brown liquid seeped over everything, this far underground, damping the floor and crusting the walls.

Rusting the bars.

The unicorn shook himself and stretched in the shadowed recess, dragging his chain in a stilted circle before returning to his decaying bed of straw. Answering clinks and gratings stirred in the darkness, but he did not look up. There was no point.

The shadows pressed around him. Perhaps around the others, too; the clinkings had stopped and now only the familiar dripping of water disturbed the silence. New arrivals screamed and shouted at first, when they were dragged in, or cursed at the orderly hoofsteps that marched through the invisible corridor twice a day, but sooner or later the darkness and silence always won.

The unicorn rested his head on his hooves and stared at nothing, remembering sunlight. This was how he spent his days--planning and dreaming. All in vain, of course. There was no point in planning for the future when your future was a darkened cell. He would never taste sweet sugar again, never feel the caress of magic around him, never gallop in a grassy field, never be able to kick one of his captors square in the--

He sat up. Far down the corridor, something flickered, a bobbing ball of light getting stronger. The unicorn scrambled to his hooves, nearly tripping over his chain as he pressed against the rusted bars to drink in the light. The lantern-bearer was a half-grown colt, tilting his head upward to expand the pool of illumination and casting anxious glances at the adults following him. 

One, a white earthling draped in heavily scaled barding, strode between the rows of cells without sparing a glance for the ponies who cowered away from her or threw themselves snarling against their bars. The other, a blue-toned unicorn, walked with more reluctance, grimacing as his hooves sank into the unidentifiable muck layering the floor and shying whenever a prisoner spat at him. But he followed the guard and the colt until he was in the midst of a particular cluster of cells . . . standing close enough that one unicorn, one who neither spat nor cowered, noted that a faint smell of soap wafted from the visitor's glistening coat. Clearly this was not just the monthly straw-changing.

The mare's helmet flashed in the lamplight as she turned to her companion. "These are the ones you'll be interested in, Tidal."

"These are all?" The blue unicorn's eyes darted over the cells. "You're sure?"

"These are the only cells in the dungeons which are magically bound," the earthling said drily. "You would be unlikely to find a unicorn in any other kind."

"It does not leave much of a choice," Tidal muttered.

"How unfortunate that our _selection_ leaves something to be desired." The guard's lips peeled back in something that could've have been a smile, if less teeth had been showing. _"Most_ unicorns have enough sense not to end up here." She did have a smile as she said that, looking the blue unicorn up and down, but her smile wasn't pleasant. 

He shot her a scowl and moved towards a cell that contained a white-maned unicorn who rocked back and forth, humming tunelessly. "What about this one?"

"Ah, Tesseract. One of our most powerful unicorns. Also insane. They often get like that after a few decades." Her lips quirked. "It must be the food."

"That's no good. I need one with full command of her faculties. Or his," he added as an afterthought. In a matriarchal society, females always came first. "Someone who will cooperate." The blue stallion snorted, then made a face. "For the love of the Rainbow, how do you stand the _smell?"_

"You'd be surprised how it grows on you after a while."

"What about one of those?" The sweep of Tidal's hoof took in several consectutive cells. 

The guard sauntered over, giving a nod to each cell. "Insane. Violent. Violent. Violent. Insane. Hmm . . . looks like that one's dead. This one . . ." She stared through the bars at the chained unicorn, the one who waited, gazing expressionlessly through his mask of filth. No point in pretending he wasn't interested in them. No telling what they wanted. "This one . . . maybe . . ." The guard sounded uncertain.

"He's violent?" the other unicorn suggested, edging away from the bars a bit.

"No. And he _is_ sane. As far as I know. But . . ." The earth pony gave the captive that sideways look again, measuring him. "He's more dangerous than you know. Choose someone else."

"We're looking for ability, not moral perfection, Verge. We don't need him to guard the treasure vault or help old grundles across the street!" He turned towards the prisoner, whose expression had not wavered an instant during the exchange. He was watching. Waiting.

"Chameleon?" Tidal asked, squinting at a rusted placard nailed precariously over the names of the cell's previous inhabitants. The green-grey unicorn nodded silently.

Tidal stepped closer, blue eyes glittering. "How would you like to be free?"

_"Yes."_

"There is a price," Tidal warned . . . but Chameleon was already laughing. 

There was _always_ a price. 

Sometimes he set it himself. 

  



	2. Chapter One

  


_**Chapter One:**_

  
The light swayed as young lantern-bearer flicked his eyes from Tidal to Chameleon and back again. The greenish unicorn's pace was uneven, slowed by the thick band of iron circling his hoof and a decade's worth of cramped tendons. But he was limping in a halo of _light_, and it felt wonderful. 

Tidal was feeling far from wonderful, judging from the way he sniffed and snorted and tried to hold his breath, trotting ahead a few steps at a time, then waiting for the others to catch up. Once the blue pony started to tap a hoof impatiently, but he stopped with a wince when something squelched under his feet. 

For his part, Chameleon made no effort to hurry. So much the better if Tidal and his ilk learned what lay under the castle. The green unicorn glanced left and right at the sharp relief of bars overlaying the silhouetted figures who sat with heads hanging. None of them screamed profanities or cursed as they would have in the Unicorn Block; none of them moved an inch. They said you could break a pegasus' spirit if you broke her wings . . . 

"Keep moving," Verge growled; Chameleon didn't have to turn around to know that her eyes were boring a hole in his neck. He obeyed, picking up his pace as best he could. He was not out of the dungeon yet, after all.

His breath quickened at the blaze of light down the passageway. On the other side of a massive iron gate, the corridor widened into a room with sconced torches set on the walls every few feet, a blaze of light that made the racked spears and lances gleam. A rough circle of straw-filled burlap sacks dominated the center of the room, where armored unicorns and earthlings lounged, eating and drinking over bouts of loud laughter, tossing dice. A passageway on the other side of the room twisted abruptly out of sight. There would be several other sharp turns before a second iron gate barred the way, Chameleon knew. Unicorns would not wink to a location they could not see . . . 

Verge rattled the gate with a hoof and a yellow pony with silver armor curling up her horn approached, casting a regretful look back at the gambling circle.

"You found him one, then?" she asked Verge. Without waiting for a reply, her lavender gaze shifted to Chameleon. "Interesting choice." 

"He'll do," Tidal said, obviously annoyed at being ignored. 

"He wanted a sane one, Red. It complicated things."

"Hmm." The yellow unicorn aimed another look at the green pony before she began cranking the windlass that controlled the gate. The chains in the walls rattled as they drew taut, wrapping around the cinch; then the gate slowly rose, following the grooves in the walls that drew it parallel with the ceiling as it angled upwards.

Tidal marched into the room first, obviously relieved at the chance to wipe his hooves off on the relatively clean straw littering the floor. Chameleon followed quietly, eyes fixed on the second passageway leading out of the room. He waited for Verge to take the lead, though. Chameleon was nothing if not patient.

Verge strode straight through the room, her barding clinking. Tidal followed hesitantly, stepping wide of the armored mares lounging around the room. Still, their eyes rested on Tidal more often than on Chameleon. A few of the unicorn guards sneered openly at him as he chose his steps. Behind him, Chameleon took note of the undercurrents. He had been gone too long to know what they meant, but he would. Oh yes, he would.

As he had half-guessed, half-remembered, the passageway leading out of the room snaked wildly before it settled into a smallish space, not quite a room, in front of a second heavy gate. On the other side of it two unicorn, purple and pink, stood guard. The purple one began winching the gate open as the other one silently watched the small party of ponies on the other side.

"At last," Tidal muttered, ducking under the gate as soon as there was room. Chameleon made himself wait until there was room to walk under without bending his head, but it wasn't easy. His eyes drifted up the hallway as Verge exchanged a few words with the other guards.

"Chameleon," she said, jerking her head towards the green unicorn. 

"You'll have to cross him out of the records when you get a chance," the pink unicorn said, "assuming he's out for good."

Chameleon's eyes were hard as emeralds. "I won't return." 

Tidal put on a fake smile clearly meant to soothe a potential danger, but the guards just looked at Chameleon, amused.

"We'll see," the pink mare said, and purple one laughed.

"We'll see," Verge repeated, moving up the hallway. "Follow me."

Chameleon limped after her, up the incline. The air was fresher the farther up they got, sweeter. He could taste the promise of sunlight. Impossible; he had always been a pramagtic pony. But he could taste it.

"At _last,"_ Tidal sighed as they reached the foot of a steep but wide stairway. Verge simply started up the steps, assuming the other two would follow. Chameleon didn't hesitate. For years his movement had been restricted to a turn or two around his cramped cell and now his legs wanted to yield. He wouldn't let them. He was close, so close. If he just took one stair after another, one after another . . .

With a start, he realized that he was at the top. At the end of the landing was an open archway blazing with sunlight. He stepped into it, savoring it, but aware of the darkness looming at his back. 

He bared his teeth in a smile and his eyes glittered. "Oh no, I won't be returning . . ."

  



	3. Chapter Two

  


_**Chapter Two:**_

  
It took a minute for Chameleon's eyes to adjust to the light, and when they had he found Tidal tapping a hoof impatiently while Verge surveyed him with an expression that flickered between caution and boredom. 

"Come on, come on," Tidal said, turning down the hall. "We've wasted enough time here . . . and Rainbow knows we don't have much to spare."

Chameleon followed him, sorely pressed to match the blue unicorn's pace, but not quite caring. Sunlight spattered through the small, high half-circles cut into the walls, sunlight and birdsong. Glass was too expensive to use in a hall devoted to something so humble as the dungeon entrance, of course, but the small arches provided all the light necessary. 

There was something else in the air, too . . . the familiar caress of magic. The soul of the unicorn, some called it. It was all Chameleon could do not to pull in the power and wink. But Verge still watched . . . and even before his imprisonment, Chameleon had been schooled in patience.

"Here." Tidal stopped in front of a relatively ornate door and tapped at it with a hoof. "Come in," someone called from inside. The door swung open gently as Tidal nudged it open. Chameleon followed the blue unicorn in, with Verge marching behind him.

The room was large and obviously occupied by several unicorns, though only one was present (aside from the newly arrived Tidal and Chameleon himself.) It would certainly take more than one pony to generate the level of disorder that could make such a spacious, airy room seem cluttered and downright claustrophobic. (Chameleon stirred uneasily.) 

And only unicorns would concern themselves with the kind of objects crowding the room--crumbling parchments, a variety of amulets, wooden carvings of everything from dragons to seagulls, great lines of feathers tied together and draped around the windows, glass vials half-filled with bizarrely colored liquids (some of which were steaming), dried herbs hanging in prickly bunches from the ceiling, and of course the requisite candles and various animal skulls. (The candles made some sort of sense, though Chameleon wasn't sure why they were inevitably half-melted and oozing with wax, but he had never understood the fascination others of his breed had with skeletons in general and skulls in particular. Perhaps it was due to the unusual formation unicorns had on their own heads.)

In the midst of the confusion, a single unicorn was trying to rearrange the contents of one table into a semblance of order, apparently unperturbed by the futility of his task. His coat was soft orange with darker orange highlights appearing as he moved in the sunlight, offset by light blue hair. He looked up. "You're back."

"I'm back," Tidal confirmed. 

The orange unicorn picked some wayward papers off the floor and arranged them in a neat stack on the table. "I thank you for your assistance, Verge," he said, dipping his head toward the guard. "But we must not detain you from your duties any longer."

The earthling's eyes narrowed. "The prisoner was locked away to begin with because he's _dangerous."_

"We'll let you know if we need assistance, but for the moment your services are no longer required, Guardian." The unicorn's voice calm, polite, but firm. 

Verge snorted as she turned away, tossing her purple mane. From the doorway, she looked over shoulder. "You are a fool, Summerset, like all your kind. Stop thinking with your horn and exercise your head for once." And with a rattle of armor, she was gone.

"What was _that_ supposed to mean?" Tidal asked incredulously. "Honestly! Earth ponies!" 

"Everyone is tense these days," Summerset shrugged. 

"Where in the Rainbow is Hypernion? I go through all this trouble, walk through digusting layers of I don't know what, barely able to see an inch in front of my nose, past rows of vicious--" He cut himself off with a sideways glance at Chameleon, who was carefully schooling his face in an expression of blankness. "I went through a lot of work," Tidal repeated. "Where is he?"

"He's trying to find some specialized ingredients for the--" Summerset let his sentence die as the door swung open. 

A mint green unicorn slid across the smooth tiles, before finding his footing. "Hey guys, what's up?"

Summerset let out a deep breath and Tidal nearly collapsed as his muscles untensed. "Have you ever heard of _knocking,_ Jabber?" the blue unicorn demanded as he kicked the door closed.

"Sorry, sorry," Jabber replied, looking totally unrepentant. He turned towards Chameleon. "Wow. Are you sure there's a unicorn under there?" 

Chameleon shifted underneath his layer of filth, less at the pink-haired unicorn's comment than at his strange yellow-green eyes. Tidal looked at Chameleon as if he had been trying to forget his existance. Summerset just shrugged.

"I don't suppose it's too clean down there," the sun-symboled unicorn said. Tidal made a sound that combined digust and incredulity, successfully infering that Summerset had made the understatement of the century. 

"You aren't going to let Hypernion see him like that, are you?" Jabber said, pushing a pile of parchments, fossils, and what looked like a dead bird off a chair before plopping down. 

"He's from the _dungeon_. What does Hypernion expect?" Tidal asked. "Have you ever _been_ down there?"

"He'll freak. You know how Hype is," Jabber said, stretching back in his chair.

The three unicorns looked at Chameleon. The grey-green pony looked back, nonplussed.

"And then he'll give a speech," Jabber predicted after a few minutes of contemplation. "If there's one thing Hype loves--"

A sharp rap at the door interrupted him. Chameleon watched the other three unicorns turn towards the door, watched Tidal pull it open a crack, then take several steps back as a graceful pink earthling with rich red hair pushed through the doors.

"Queen Seashadow requests the presence of the Hypernion, unicorn of the Second Order of the Circle," she announced, standing at attention with lifted eyes.

"Ah . . . I'm afraid Hypernion is not available at the moment, caller." 

From the shadows, Chameleon watched Tidal sweat, while the others focused on the caller with such intentness that it should have been obvious that they were trying not to look at something else. He would've known, if he'd been the messanger. But her eyes never left Tidal as the blue unicorn shifted under gaze.

"His presence is requested," she repeated. 

"I'll go as his proxy," Tidal said, stifling a sigh. "I am also of the Second Order."

She gave one nod before turning and marching out the door. Tidal followed with obvious reluctance. 

"Now what?" Jabber asked as he pushed the door closed again. 

Summerset clicked a hoof against the tiles indecisively, then turned to Chameleon, who was still watching from the corner. "Sorry about that."

Chameleon gave a tilt of his head and a shrug of his shoulders to indicate that it didn't matter. "Perhaps you'd like a chance to, um, freshen up?" Summerset eyed the other unicorn doubtfully, perhaps trying to guess his proper color.

"Yes." Chameleon tried to remember what fresh water felt like and failed.

The orange unicorn nodded. "If you'll follow me then, . . . ?" His sentence trailed away with an expectant pause.

"Chameleon is my name." 

"Chameleon," Summerset repeated. "Well, if you'll follow me . . ."

The grey-green unicorn nodded, limping forward.

"Jabber, hold down the fort please."

"Oh, give me the hard job why don't you?" The mint unicorn called as they left. Summerset's hooves clicked against the blue-tiled floor, as he slowed his paces for Chameleon. "I hope you'll get a chance to meet Hypernion soon, but it's hard to say; everything's been so chaotic lately . . ." 

"It's been . . . interesting," Chameleon said. It was true; in the past two hours he'd had more mental stimulation than in the previous two decades. 

"Yes, I suppose--" The hallway trembled and both unicorns automatically shifted their weight to compensate. Summerset moved to a window and grimaced. "It's started again."

"It's started," Chameleon said . . . and he wasn't looking outside at all.

  



	4. Chapter Three

  


**_Chapter Three:_**

  
Shaking his head, Summerset resumed walking and Chameleon followed, adjusting his footsteps to the trembling floor. The green unicorn took a casual glance out the windows as he passed and looked down on a courtyard crowded with panicking ponies pushing towards the main gate of the castle. Even members of the Guardian Elite, unicorns all, were backing away from the shuddering outer walls and often stampeding into the crushing horde. 

Chameleon was unsurprised. The tremors that rattled the chains in the darkness had not often been spoken of by the guards, and then in whispers, but Chameleon had made sure he caught every word. 

"It is hard to have an enemy you can't fight," Summerset murmured, and Chameleon jerked at the thought of the blue-haired pony reading his mind. But the other unicorn never looked at him and appeared lost in thought.

_There is such a thing as coincidence,_ Chameleon reminded himself as he carefully followed the other unicorn down a flight of stairs. _Sometimes._ Whether this was one of those times remained to be seen.

"Here we are," Summerset said, interrupting the green pony's train of thought. 

Following Summerset through a light tasseled curtain hanging in a doorway in place of a door, Chameleon misstepped and scrambled as he skidded in a circle on the slick floor. As he regained his footing on the wet tiles, he found himself standing in the middle of a vast, airy room dominated by a pool of cool water sunken into the floor. Several ponies sat surrounded by towels on the broad steps leading down to the pool and others were chest deep in the perfumed water. Earthlings, unicorns, pegasi . . . as far as Chameleon could tell, the only thing they had in common was that they were all gaping at him. He straightened and bit back a scowl as he glanced around for his guide. 

Summerset had gathered a stiff-bristled scrub-brush, a towel, and a piece yellow soap. "Well . . . I guess you should get in," he said, his voice uncertain as he eyed first the pool, then the other unicorn.

"Perhaps we should wait for assistance," Chameleon said as the bathing ponies began hastily pulling themselves out of the water. He did take a few steps closer to the water, just enough to inspire a renewed scramble onto the tiled floor and a cascade of dirty looks. Within seconds, the last bather had evacuated the room.

"What do y'need assistance with?" The voice came from an arched doorway on the right, from a crabbed figure of a black unicorn shuffled into the room. Chameleon stared. The newcomer was wrinkled and greying and . . . old. _Impossible. Ponies don't age, not past adulthood . . . _ But somehow this pony had.

"I _said_ what do you--" The aged unicorn stopped in mid-sentence to stare at Summerset with foggy eyes. "Oh, it's _you._ You've got some nerve, kid." His voice was flat and his greying muzzle twisted like he wanted to spit. 

"I--"

"Tell Hypernion I finished dancing to his tune a long time ago. Dancing . . . ha." The black unicorn's limbs creaked as he shifted stiffly.

"Cosmos, I didn't come here to--" 

"I don't care what you came here for, you little sycophant."

_Interesting,_ Chameleon thought (as Summerset straightened in indignation.) _And informative._ Chameleon casually wandered towards the pool, without the slightest flick of his ears to indicate he was listening.

"You listen to me, Cosmos . . . I know you lost a lot and for that I am truly regretful, but--"

_"A lot?_ I lost EVERYTHING! Not that you and your--SWEET RAINBOW!! WHO THE HELL IS THAT?? GET AWAY FROM THERE!!"

_Mmm . . . shouldn't have gone towards the water._ Chameleon turned.

_"That's_ why I'm here," Summerset said. "I didn't even know you were working here, Cosmos. We just wanted to get him cleaned up, so that--"

"OH no. No no no. Not in _this_ bath room. I'm not having his filth clogging the drains."

"But isn't that the whole point of this place? So that ponies have a chance to clean up when they're dirty?"

"Kid, the guy's a walking pile of manure. That's way beyond 'dirty.'" The black unicorn scowled, first at Summerset, then at Chameleon. The latter looked towards the rippling water with a wistful look in his eyes that he didn't have to fake and didn't try to hide. Cosmos hesistated, shaking his stringy purple forelock out of his eyes. "He's not getting in the pool. Not a chance." Cosmos frowned at the smeared, stained footprints Chameleon had left on the wet tiles, avoiding the emerald green stare of the other unicorn. "But . . . maybe there's a way. Follow me."

Cosmos walked through the archway, followed by the other two unicorns. The room on the other side was also completely tiled, but divided into two sections. The half immediately on the other side of the doorway was defined by the rough wooden shelves lining the walls, holding stacks of neatly folded white towels, ceramic bottles with dribbles of shampoo running down their sides, and plenty of brushes--scrub brushes, back brushes, and hairbrushes. There were piles of soap too, colorful waxy lumps misshapened and warped by hot water and use. (Of course no pony wanted to hold soap in her mouth, which explained the soap-handles scattered across the shelves. The pieces of wood were carved in a rough "L" shape, with the longer leg of the "L" able to be gripped comfortably in a pony's mouth while the shorter leg was pointed--too dully to scratch, but enough that a piece of soap could easily be skewered on it.)

The far side of the room was built about five inches lower, except for a "dais" along the back wall that held a small stove and a pile of quartered logs that served as fuel. A pile of dirty towels sat limply on floor, next to two small, craggy troll-like creatures (both females, judging from their dresses) who were industriously scrubbing linens using a large wooden tub and washboards. Their energetic efforts splashed water everywhere and despite the concavity of the floor and the drain in the middle of the room, the floor was slick with soapy water. 

"Hey you two." The pair looked up at the sound of Cosmos' voice, breaking into smiles as they saw the unicorns. They quickly threw down their washboards and scuttled over.

"Greetings, visitors! I am Blim!"

"And I am Griddle! We are . . ." She paused dramatically. " . . . WASHERS!"

"We do a good job, yes!"

"Oh yes, grundles GOOD!"

"I'm sure you are," Summerset said politely, trying to shake his leg free of the grundles' soapy hug. Chameleon merely nodded in greeting, privately noting that despite their effusion and friendly smiles, neither of the little creatures had ventured too close to him. Well, he was _very_ dirty, after all . . . 

"I've got a special job for you two," Cosmos announced. 

"Oooo!" the grundles chorused. Griddle went so far as to clap in excitement.

"But it's gonna be tough," the purple-haired unicorn warned. "Think you're up to it?"

"Grundles _good,"_ Blim declared. "Grundles can handle anything!"

"Great. Clean up that unicorn." Cosmos jerked his head towards Chameleon, turned around, and left as Chameleon and Summerset stared after him and Blim and Griddle stared ahead with frozen smiles.

"Grundles good," Griddle ventured after a minute or two.

"Yeah, good." Blim looked at the muck-encrusted unicorn. "Nothing grundles can't handle." She took another look. "Probably."

To their credit, their smiles only flickered for an instant as they traded glances. Then they were pushing the tub of towels to the side of the wash room and setting up a new washtub near the middle of the room.

"How long do you think this will take?" Summerset asked as Blim began pulling heated buckets of water off the stove and Griddle gathered armfuls of soap and shampoo.

"How long? Hmmm . . ." Blim frowned thoughfully. "Hour or two?"

_"Two hours?"_ Summerset looked worried. "I don't suppose you could knock that down to, say, a half hour?"

Blim gave him a look. "Grundles not _that_ good."

"Well . . . um . . ." Summerset shifted apologetically as he looked at Chameleon. "I'm afraid I have a meeting in a bit. Would you mind staying here with the grundles while I . . . ?"

"Not a problem," Chameleon said. _Couldn't have planned it better._

Summerset nodded and hurried through the archway while Chameleon carefully negotiated the five inch drop separating the two halves of the room. 

"You ready?" Griddle asked, looking over the steaming tub.

"Oh yes," Chameleon said quietly. "Yes."

Stepping over the high side of the tub was difficult, with his legs still sore and stiff from decades of neglect and when he finally did manage to get in, his lower legs turned the water a muddy brown, (almost black) within seconds. Blim and Griddle insisted that he get out so they could dump out the tub.

Chameleon stood with a muddy puddle gathering around his two-toned legs--now recognizably dark green below his knees, though a stubborn coating of dirt and other less pleasant substances still clung to them--as he watched the grundles pouring new water into the washtub.

"Ready sir!" Griddle beamed. To grundles, all ponies were "ma'am" or "sir", even filthy ones.

"I've been . . . away a while," Chameleon commented as Blim and Griddle started attacking his layer of grime with soap and scrub-brushes. "Seashadow is still queen, I understand?"

"Oh yes," Griddle replied, working on the unicorn's left leg. "Seashadow, beautiful unicorn. Very good--"

"And her consort?"

"Not a unicorn . . . Magenta, funny name for a pony--"

_Says the one named Blim, of all things. Great Rainbow, but the water feels good._ "But the queen has advisors besides her consort, surely."

"Yes, yes, many advisors. Picked by her, and Magenta helped. Lower head, please!" The unicorn obediantely lowered his head and Blim began slathering his stiff, brittle mane with shampoo before continuing. "Very good advisors. Vision, very wise, knows how to make friends. Moongleam, good fighter."

"Mist," Griddle added as she stood on tiptoes to sluice soapy water over Chameleon's back. "She looks for answers to problems in the city."

_A diplomat, a general, and a spymaster,_ Chameleon translated, trying to focus. They were scrubbing more than two decades of filth out of his fur. The water was steaming . . . and so, so clean . . . 

"And Rainrose," Blim continued. "She is--"

"Very pretty," Griddle interrupted, then giggled.

"Grid-dle!" Blim said, more in amusement than in reproach. "Rainrose keeps track of money and--"

"VERY pretty!" This time Griddle had to dodge as Blim tried to splash her.

Chameleon tilted his head to one side and smiled. _Very pretty, eh? I know Griddle's not the only one who thinks so._ Standing kneedeep in soapy water, with his mane sopping over his eyes and trails of water trickling off his back, the grey-green unicorn let a quiet chuckle escape. 

  



	5. Chapter Four

  


_Chapter Four:_

  
Blim's two hour estimate had been overly optimistic. While the grundles had managed to clean Chameleon's pelt with an abundance of hard scrubbing and harsh soap, they were still struggling to work decades of snarls out of his mane and tail. The unicorn lay on the cool tiles, listening to the grundles chattering back and forth as they worked some viscous pink liquid (it smelled like strawberries) into his mane. They were trying to brush it out from the ends up, using thin-toothed steel combs to pull through the snarls. Each brushstroke caught at a new tangle of hair, painfully jerking the unicorn's head down. 

Chameleon sat quietly as his head was pulled this way and that. It was easy to be forgetten if you had the knack . . . easier still around grundles. 

He had always liked the ugly little creatures. They had the run of the castle, from the kitchens to the baths to the private bedchambers and while they weren't exactly _ignored_, no pony gave them much thought except to order them to change the linens or scrub the crockery. For their part, the grundles scrubbed and swept and cleaned and cheerfully, unobtrusively kept the city from crumbling. But the only thing Chameleon cared about was that grundles loved to talk.

By the time Summerset managed (or remembered) to send someone back to the baths for Chameleon, the former prisoner had caught up on four and a half hours of stories, gossip, and news. He was smiling.

_"There_ you are," Tidal said as he strode in. The blue unicorn walked around Chameleon with his head tilted in a critical manner. "You look better."

"Yes," Chameleon said simply. He flicked his tail, just to feel it swish freely.

"Well . . . It's almost seven."

"Oh?" 

"Yes." 

Given that Tidal seemed to have run out of things to say and Chameleon was all for letting the conversation die with what dignity it could muster, it was probably fortunate that Jabber suddenly trotted in.

"So are you guys ready or what?"

"Ready?"

"What, didn't Tidal tell you?" Jabber blinked. "You get to go to the fancy-schmancy groomer to get ready for the big night on the town. Or in the ballroom, as the case may be." Jabber made a face. "An exciting night of alternately being ignored and patronized. You have no idea how excited I am."

"Watch your tongue, Jabber!" Tidal snapped, heading for the door. "You should be grateful you were invited at _all."_

"The patronizing begins already. Oh joy!" Jabber sighed overdramatically as he followed Tidal, with Chameleon trailing behind him.

Cosmos was sitting beside the pool as they left, watching them with rock hard eyes. Tidal raised his head a little higher and pretended not to see him, but Jabber seemed to shy a little as they passed the black unicorn, with his flaps of wrinkled skin and his greying muzzle. Chameleon took one last glance as the black unicorn as he followed Jabber and Tidal into the hallway.

"This way." Tidal led them through several twists and turns, sighing impatiently when Chameleon's limp slowed them down. At last he paused in front of a wooden door engraved with long-tailed birds and long-stemmed lilies. A heavy ring of iron was attached to the center of the door. Tidal lifted it and banged it against the door. The trio of unicorns waited, shifting as they studied the hall and the door. After a minute or two Tidal used the knocker again, this time more forcefully. A tiny panel slid open about halfway up the door and a blue eye peered out. Before the unicorns could do more than blink in surprise, the eye pulled back and the panel slid shut with a snap. Chameleon noticed that the door had a strange rounded mechanism attached to it where the easy to manipulate door tassle would normally have been. As he looked at it, the smooth gold device turned and the door opened with a soft click. 

The elderly grundle on the other side greeted them with a huge smile and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, unusual for grundles who usually favored more practical clothes. "Greetings, greetings sirs!" 

Chameleon nodded, Jabber bobbed his head amiably, and Tidal simply strode in. They were clearly in the grundle's private quarters, but the main room had been converted into something resembling a miniature tailor's shop. Three mirrors were set up side by side, each at a slightly different angle. To the left of them stood a small iron-legged stand with two fold-out shelves, one laid out with neat rows of brushes and combs, the other lined with tape measures, sewing pins, needles, and blue chalk. Two lounges (large enough for ponies) rested a ways behind the stand, one upholstered in blue velvet and one in green.

"He's a _professional_ groomer," Jabber explained as he bounced onto the green lounge. Chameleon carefully pulled himself onto the other lounge to rest his leg. "You know what _that_ means."

"Expensive?"

The pink-haired unicorn nodded. "Got it in one! We're only here because you're still a mess. No offense," he added, as if it had just occurred to him that the other unicorn might not take the remark well. "It's just . . . you're leaving hair everywhere, y'know?"

Chameleon looked at him levelly and said nothing. Jabber did have a point . . . Clean though he was, he had already deposited a generous coating of green hair on the lounge. _Oh well. That's his problem._ Chameleon's eyes drifted to the center of the room where Tidal was deep in conversation with the grundle. The blue unicorn broke away for a moment to move over to Jabber.

_"How_ much did we have in the cookie jar again?"

"Not enough," Jabber answered promptly. "It's never enough." 

"Yes, yes, we're all impressed by your sparkling wit," Tidal said drily. "How much? Did Summerset ever pick up those powders for Hypernion?"

"Nah, I think he was going to get them after--"

"Perfect. We'll find something cheaper to replace them."

"Oooo, Hype will loooove that!"

"It's either that or make an appearance with this . . . this _scarecrow."_ Tidal looked at Chameleon. "No offense."

_They're quite the outspoken lot for ponies who don't want to give offense . . ._

"What about me? Don't _I_ don't get a brushing?" Jabber smiled winningly.

"Not even if we had all the treasure in the city."

"Awww, Tide . . . Noooobody loves me, everybody hates meeee . . ." Jabber melodramatically rolled onto his back and dangled his hooves in the air.

"Maybe if you showed some ability to stay presentable for more than ten minutes at a time--" Tidal began, but he cut himself off when he noticed that the grundle hovering on the fringes of the conversation. "Excuse me a moment." He stepped aside once more.

Jabber watched the negotiations in silence for about ten seconds before righting himself and looking at the dark green unicorn. "Soooo . . . What's your name again?"

"Chameleon."

"And you came from the _dungeons,_ right?" Jabber rested his head on his hooves. "What's it like down there?"

"Different." 

"It must be pretty scary down there, huh?" the mint unicorn said.

_There is nothing left to be frightened of down there. You can't sink lower than Hell._ But as Chameleon met Jabber's strange yellow eyes, he only said, "It's darker down there."

"Sir?" The finely dressed grundle approached, hands clasped neatly together. Apparently Tidal had finally made an acceptable offer. "You ready?"

Chameleon nodded as he got up, following the grundle over to the mirrors as Tidal took over the blue lounge.

"Hmm . . . sir hasn't taken care of his coat," the grundle said with mild reproach as he ran his hand over Chameleon's side. "Well, could be worse . . ." He moved over to his workstand, picked up a curry comb, and started brushing Chameleon's shoulder. The metal comb, formed in concentric circles, dug deep enough to scrape out the last vestiges of dirt and dead hair, but not hard enough to hurt. It actually felt pleasant, with the grundle currying away with expert motions timed to match the clock ticking in the corner. The little creature had to pull up a little stool to finish the unicorn's neck and the top of his back. 

The grundle left the stool up when he put away the curry comb and selected a hairbrush. Blim and Griddle had done their task well; the soft bristled brush slid slickly through the strands of dark green hair. The wizened grundle smoothed Chameleon's mane, his hands expertly arranging the hair so that it fell neatly on one side of the unicorn's neck. The tail needed less work; a simple brushing took care of it.

"Almost done," the grundle assured the unicorn. "One moment." He disappeared to a back corner and began rummaging.

Chameleon watched him for a few seconds before turning back to the mirrors. He stared, and a dark green unicorn tinted with just a suggestion of granite stared back at him with emerald eyes. His symbol, a roughly shaped lizard formed out of thin, uneven lines, was barely visible in the dim light, especially since the interior of the beast matched his regular coloring. Chameleon moved a little and watched the lights catch the shine of his coat. He was still somewhat scruffy with his uneven coat and close examination revealed a few gaps in his mane where Blim and Griddle had been forced to cut the stubbornest snarls out of his hair, but overall he looked passably formal. Hopefully no one would noticed the hairless ring around his right foreleg, the leg that made him limp. _Appropriate. All those years should leave _some_ mark._ His eyes narrowed a bit. _And not just on me._

"Found something for you, sir." The grundle was smiling as he gently cradled something in his arms. "Something extra. For your time." From beneath his craggy brows, the blue eyes dipped towards Chameleon's right leg. 

Chameleon stared at him in suspicion, but the grundle didn't seem to mind. The little creature smiled in reassurance as he slowly drew his hands apart to reveal a length of thick white ribbon trimmed with gold embroidery. 

From the side of the room came a gasp (from Jabber) and a disbelieving gurgle (from Tidal) and Chameleon himself raised his eyebrows. The traditional tail ribbon had always been a symbol of luxury (the original implication being that any pony who wore a ribbon was wealthy enough to have a servant to tie it) and a ribbon with _this_ kind of workmanship was extraordinary indeed.

"We don't have any more money," Tidal said, approaching.

"No, no, no money . . . a gift." The grundle lifted it so that it was just below Chameleon's nose. When the grey-green unicorn didn't move, the groomer pulled over his little stool and secured the ornate ribbon around the base of Chameleon's tail with three simple movements and a sharp tug. 

"Well . . ." Tidal looked lost. "Ummmm . . . yes. Ah . . . we'd better be on our way now, but of course we're most appreciative . . ." He trailed off.

"Better to go now, sirs," the grundle said respectfully. "You'll be late."

"Late. Yes," Tidal said distractedly, drifting out the door. Jabber followed him, but continued staring wide-eyed over his shoulder at the grundle and Chameleon (resulting in a collision with Tidal just outside the door.

Chameleon looked sharply at the ugly little creature smiling in his unusually dapper suit. Chameleon had always listened to grundles, but he had never seen any point in _knowing_ them. But maybe . . . "Do I know you?"

"No. No, sir. You'd better go with your friends now." The grundle made sweeping gestures towards the door (where the sounds of an argument between Tidal and Jabber were crescendoing.)

Chameleon's eyes tightened. "They aren't my friends."

The grundle smiled and nodded as he peered up at the unicorn with clear blue eyes. "That is why you may yet survive."

  



End file.
